


vår kjærlighet; vårt hjem (our love; our home)

by jishler



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Grinding, M/M, Making Out, They just love each other a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 14:10:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12655110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jishler/pseuds/jishler
Summary: Then time froze, as Isak kissed him back and Even’s hand slid around his waist. Isak’s heart was slowly melting into his blood, spreading out all throughout his body and seeping into Even’s skin and the bed below him. He could feel himself growing roots into the bedsprings.[...]There was no reason to hold back, exaggerate, or pretend. Their upstairs and downstairs neighbours were at work, and if their moans drifted out the open windows to the ears of passer-bys, that wasn’t their problem. So Isak and Even let their mouths hang open, the noises only muffled by the other’s skin.





	vår kjærlighet; vårt hjem (our love; our home)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iriswests](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswests/gifts).



> I present my specialty: emotional & loving porn. these are the events of tuesday, october 17th, 2017 in Isak and Even's life. I initially wrote all the dialogue in Norwegian for Authenticity but ultimately decided to translate it. 
> 
> @cee cee: I re-read what u have so far of take me to the stars, and I saw what u posted on tumblr about it. i'm endlessly impressed that you can not only write in such quantities, but also that your writing's quality consistently matches (or surpasses??) the magnitude of its quantity. though not in the same universe, this was inspired by that re-reading of tmtts so i dedicate this to you, in appreciation & support. catch isak struggling w/ the lock in tribute to himself in alternate universe ;))

**13:50**

**tirsdag 17 oktober 2017**

 

**til even kosegruppa**

er du hjemme når jeg kommer hjem?

**13:57 fra even kosegruppa**

jobber til 15. når er du ferdig?

 

**13:57 til even kosegruppa**

15:15

**13:57 til even kosegruppa**

Kan vi bare 

**13:57 til even kosegruppa**

Kline 

**13:57 fra even kosegruppa**

please

 

Isak had woken as he did every school morning: by silencing his alarm, and starting to extract himself from the profound comfort of warmth, sleep, and Even. Some mornings were easier than others: if Even had stolen the comforter and rolled over, only one of his arms might remain resting on Isak. Getting out of bed was often the hardest thing he had to do these days. He knew to be grateful for that.

Normally, the pull of dark, quiet comfort would lessen as Isak kissed sleeping Even’s cheeks, met his friends at school, and threw himself into the day. But it all got so much harder if Even woke up before Isak left, and Isak would feel Even’s sleepy love tracking him, following him, as he fumbled about their little home in the dark. Finding assignments, and clean clothes. On those mornings, Isak would kiss not Even’s cheek but his lips, fresh mint against morning breath. And if Even reached up, threading a hand through the still-wet hair on the back of Isak’s neck, it would take superhuman strength to detach himself and walk out the door. 

Today, Isak had knocked over a chair in the dark. Even sat up in bed, silently watching Isak right the chair and come over to kiss him goodbye. Even had reached up to hold Isak’s waist, one hand spanning nearly half the circumference of it. Isak was never, ever going to get over that feeling. 

So, the pull stayed with him as he paid his bus fare. The pull stayed with him as he went to his classes and ate his lunch. His thoughts fell repeatedly to Even, and the pull traveled through his body, from his heart, though his stomach (he still got giddy, sometimes, thinking about Even), and lower than that. When it went there, Isak forcibly redirected his daydreaming to more neutral territory. But the longing stayed. It wasn’t the urgent, fuck-me-against-the-door-as-soon-as-I-walk-through-it longing. He just wanted what he’d been robbed of this morning (or really, of what he’d nobly robbed himself): time with Even, touching Even, Even touching him, and their bodies together. The way they look best.

Finally, he stood in front of their door again. He pulled his keys out of his backpack, commencing the daily battle with the lock. They kept saying they’d find a new one, but Isak was starting to suspect that Even, with all his quirks, had become a little attached to the finicky lock and wasn’t actually ready to let it go. If Isak was lucky, anyway, Even would hear the key rattling in the lock, take pity on Isak, and open the door from the inside before Isak could manage it himself.

Just as he heard footsteps from within, the key turned and Isak opened the door. Isak smelled the traces of KB’s coffee, and stopped short when he looked up to meet Even’s eyes. No matter how many times Isak came home to Even, or Even walked in the door, the sight of him was so arresting to Isak. It struck him every time: Even, so familiar and still so full of mystery. Even, so beautiful and so kind. Even, who Isak loved; Even, who loved Isak. Even, his family.

Isak slid his backpack from his shoulders, leaving it in a pile with his jacket and shoes. He’d gotten an ungodly quantity of homework today, but that could come later.

It was a dark and cloudy day, and even though the curtains were open the room retained the atmosphere it’d had that morning. In the half-dark, Isak watched Even reach for his hand. “Hi,” Even said quietly, gently toying with Isak’s fingers. Even tugged Isak’s hand up towards his lips, and kissed his knuckles, still cold from the outside. 

That was new, and Isak’s heart stuttered a little bit. “Hi,” he whispered back, finding himself immersed for the millionth time in the person in front of him, and what they’d made together.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Even said and Isak watched his eyes crinkle. A feeling of overwhelming softness — or just affection? — ran through him and he gave a huff of laughter. 

Isak could stand here in the hall with Even til it got so dark that they couldn’t see their joined hands. This was good but it could be better, so he tugged on Even’s hand, pulling him towards their bed. Well-practiced in this by now, they fell back together, arms and legs tangling already. 

In the grey light, Even reached to pull Isak towards him. For the first time since that morning, their lips connected. It was another way of saying hello: A different level of check-in and communication. Only when it was fitting did they break apart. 

“In calculus class today,” he began, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. But I wasn’t daydreaming about sex, like I usually might.” The corners of Even’s mouth curled up, and he did that thing Isak loved so much, where his mouth opens a little bit and he lets out this little puff of amused air.

“‘Cause I realized that I was fantasizing about how it feels after sex, to lie here, naked, with you. And I didn’t even necessarily want the sex beforehand. I just wanted... I don’t know. That.”

“That’s one of my favorite things,” Even said, voice quiet. Isak felt his hand travel down his body, to his hip, and slide under his shirt to rest on his back. “That sounds so nice right now.” 

“Let’s do it,” Isak said. Even, hand already under Isak’s shirt, pulled it over Isak’s head. In return Isak leaned over Even, undoing buttons and easing his shoulders out of his sleeves. Even’s turn. They were practiced at this now. Even set to work on Isak’s belt and pants.

“‘S funny to do this without you writhing around and telling me to hurry up,” Even said, finally tugging Isak’s pants down his legs and off his ankles. “And a lot easier when you actually stay still.”

Isak pulled Even up the bed to kiss him. “That’s your fault,” he whispered. Isak reached down and turned them over, laying Even on his back and undoing his pants. 

“Fair point,” Even conceded, lifting his hips off the mattress. Jeans and shirts thrown somewhere else, they cast off their underwear and finally tumbled back together again. Isak sighed, sinking further into the mattress and reveling in the infinite comfort of them together. 

“There,” he sighed into Even’s neck. Even’s arm came up around him, hand sliding where his back arched, up his back, and into his hair. What came next, naturally, was that Isak dragged his lips up Even’s neck, across his jaw, and to meet Even’s open mouth with his own. Like this. This and this and this. This was how it was supposed to be. 

They stayed like that for a while. Isak and Even spoke two languages: regular speech, and this untranslatable language. Isak wasn’t sure if they’d created or learned the language of touch over the past year, but it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that, as they let their bodies take over and surrendered the spoken word, they could communicate as much meaning to each other as speaking out loud. This language was more precise, though: Isak didn’t know of any spoken language with a word strong enough for the feeling of being loved, much less for the love he felt for Even. Through touch, he thought, he could get pretty close. 

His brain was quiet, filled with the same peaceful blues and greys as the sky outside. Even’s hand, moving slowly up and down Isak’s back as if in disbelief of the curve it makes, was steady. His arms heavy. His shoulders relaxed, his mind clear. Isak still didn’t have much experience, but he was getting better at reading Even. Finding the differences between this one, and the other versions of him, the ones where his brain betrayed him and its chemicals flew out of proportion. This one was the truest. But they were all Even so Isak loved them all.

Isak wanted to be closer, so he rolled over to lie on top of Even. It was striking, still, to lie down and feel another’s body, the mirror of his own, beneath him. Something about it was just so fucking hot, but maybe their ability to do this — have this touch  _ without _ the sex — was even more affecting. Maybe trust turned them on.

“Is it inevitable,” Even whispered onto Isak’s lips, “that we end up having sex after making out naked?”

A giggle, a smile. “I think so.”

“But that’s chill?”

“That’s chill.” 

Even kissed Isak. For the fiftieth time today? For the ten thousandth time? The fiftieth kiss turned into the fifty-first. Fifty-second. Then time froze, as Isak kissed him back and Even’s hand slid around his waist. Isak’s heart was slowly melting into his blood, spreading out all throughout his body and seeping into Even’s skin and the bed below him. He could feel himself growing roots into the bedsprings. Whatever happens tomorrow, next week, in twenty-five years. If they’re still together. If they get sick. If they break up. He will never attempt to deny the sacredness of this home they’re building together, and the ties, and the bows, and the knots, that bind the two of them together.

Even rolled them over, so they were laying side by side again with one of Isak’s legs still hooked over Even’s. His fingers made a horizontal line across Isak’s back, at the very lowest part. “One of my favorite parts of you,” he whispered. His finger traced a circle around Isak’s body, across his hip, and across Isak’s low stomach. “Have I ever told you how much I love this?”

He spread his hand out over Isak’s stomach, ceaselessly moving, caressing; feather-light. “No,” Isak breathed. “I don’t think you have.” Re-tracing the direction of Isak’s earlier fantasies, Even’s hand moved down, down, over his pelvic bone, into the hair that grew there. Isak’s eyes fell shut. 

Even’s hand traveled back around to Isak’s back. “So beautiful,” he whispered. “The transition between your torso and your lower body. It’s almost… more erotic than anything here.” And with that his hand slid down, all the way to the back of Isak’s thigh. He pressed into the soft skin there, and slowly dragged his hand up Isak’s inner thigh and over his ass so the flesh there got pushed up, then settled back down as his hand passed over. Isak let his body react. A heavy breath and quiet moan pushed his mouth open, and his hips rolled towards Even. He felt Even’s breath stuttering when the puffs of air reached his face.

Though Isak had hazy ideas of ambitious plans — namely, Even fucking him languidly for as long as they could manage — it was clear that both of them were already far too blissed out to deal with the technicalities of proper prep and safety. With the leg still hooked over Even, he pulled him closer so their hips, chests, lips — could touch more easily. Even with eyes closed, they moved forward at the same time and met in the middle to kiss. Even’s hands were moving all over Isak, as if trying to memorize every curve. As if he hadn’t already. But the hands, unlike other times when Even’s hands flew grabbing desperately over Isak, were still slow. Isak’s hands moved, too, into Even’s hair and across his chest. Everywhere he could reach, pressing his fingers into the spots he loved, where other boys might have taught muscle, but Even was just soft.

Even pulled Isak back on top of him. Isak let his body do as it pleased, finally breaking their kiss to drop his head to Even’s shoulder. As Isak’s hips rolled down, grinding so slowly into Even, Even met him halfway and they moved together. Even’s hands finally settled to Isak’s hips, pulling and pushing in time. 

There was no reason to hold back, exaggerate, or pretend. Their upstairs and downstairs neighbours were at work, and if their moans drifted out the open windows to the ears of passer-bys, that wasn’t their problem. So Isak and Even let their mouths hang open, the noises only muffled by the other’s skin.

On top, Isak distantly registered that he’d established a rolling, languid rhythm, almost as if he was actually inside Even. Isak shuddered, as that memory harmonized with a particularly pleasurable grind from Even. “You should —” Even whispered between breathy moans, “you should fuck me again, unf. Sometime soon.”

And since they’d established a setting of full honesty, Isak followed his inclination to kiss Even, open-mouthed and deep, before responding. Isak moaned into Even’s mouth, or maybe Even moaned into Isak’s. It didn’t matter. Isak loved it when they did this. “I’d love to,” Isak replied finally. Usually, they both prefered for Even to be the one teasing, filling, fucking Isak. But sometimes, when they wanted to switch, it’d be exactly what they needed.

After the kiss, Isak’s eyes had stayed shut. He almost felt as if, with one sense gone, he feel Even, warm and sinuous, beneath him better. But after his mind conjured an image of the boy he loved, rolling and flushed beneath him, he forced his eyes open again. 

The real image was better. They’d been chest-to-chest this whole time, and now Isak put both hands on Even’s shoulders and pushed up get see a wider view. Red marks were scattered across Even’s sensitive skin, where Isak must’ve nipped or scratched lightly somewhere along the line. His eyes were closed, mouth open, and head lolled back. His hands still held Isak’s hips, but Isak could see he was too far gone for them to be doing anything but resting lightly there, or occasionally digging in in response to some extra pleasure.

The sight of Even below him was so beautiful, so monumental, that his hips had involuntarily stilled, as if his brain couldn’t handle motion and so much wonder at the same time. But when Isak stopped, Even’s eyes flickered open. And if Isak and Even weren’t so completely in tune, Isak would’ve missed how in his next exhale was breathed “Isak,” with so much reverence; so much need. Almost like a prayer.

And then everything was happening all at once. Love crashed through Isak, and it’s possible that tears formed in his eyes. Still propped up by his arms, he used this new leverage to grind down onto Even with new urgency. Effectively pinned at the shoulder and hips by Isak, Even’s back arched off the bed and they both gasped at this new angle. Isak’s arms collapsed beneath him, or maybe he just wanted to feel more of Even’s skin on his.

There was no hope of kissing now, though, because their mouths were perpetually occupied with moans and cries. But they were just as happy to breathe the same air, and press their faces together. Anything to be closer.

Breathing turned to panting, and any rhythm they’d had going before fell to the mercy of need. Isak felt Even keening beneath him, and Isak fell into his own orgasm seconds after. It seemed to last and last and last, and Isak barely registered collapsing onto Even’s chest, still laying on top of him, and wrapping his arms around him. 

Panting turned to breathing, and Isak felt his heart rate and mind slowing. Breathing slowed; evened out. Isak’s head was resting between Even’s shoulder and neck, so he felt Even’s pulse calming through his cheek. His eyes fell shut. This, this. This was good. 

Sleepiness and peace washed over him. They washed him, really; despite the drying stickiness between their stomachs Isak had rarely felt more pure. What could possibly be more sacred than bodies, in their natural state, in love? 

Isak kissed Even’s throat, the nearest place he could reach. “I love you,” he whispered. But as his lips were on Even’s skin he felt it vibrating, and realized belatedly that they had spoken at the same time. A beat of silence, and then they both laughed.

“What did you say?” asked Isak. 

“I just said, I love you,” Even replied.

Even turned his head to face Isak, and Isak places a hand on his chest. They were so close that their eyes couldn’t really focus, but it was alright. It was good enough, for them. Isak’s heart fluttered. “Oh,” he whispered. He still couldn’t believe this boy. “I had said the same.” 

Even’s eyes softened, and Isak felt a small but sure increase in the pulse beneath his hand. They stayed there for a moment, until Isak rolled off Even to lay beside him once more. The golden, late-afternoon sunshine fell perfectly onto Even’s face and made little flecks of gold in his hair. 

“Hey,” Even said quietly. “The sun came out.” 

Isak rolled over to face the window, quietly delighting in how Even’s hand came up automatically to hold him from behind. Indeed it had: the sun that now lit both their faces was making its first appearance of the day, just as dusk was beginning to fall. 

“That’s beautiful,” Isak breathed. A beat of silence, and then, because it was inevitable:

“Not as beautiful as you,” they said in unison. Isak twisted to face Even, and they dissolved into laughter. As it died down, Isak traced a finger across Even’s face, running over the features he knew so well.

“How’s this,” Even said. “Let’s clean up and watch the rest of the sunset. Then you can do homework and I’ll figure out dinner. Then, do you want to watch a movie with me? And then we can go to bed.” 

Isak closed his eyes. If someone had told him, a year ago, that he’d spend a Tuesday after school like this, he’d tell them they were out of their mind. But now, Isak wouldn’t trade any of it, for anything. 

“Sounds perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> translation of text messages:  
> 1:50pm, tuesday, october 17th, 2017.  
> to even: when I get home will you be at home?  
> from even: I work until 3. when are you done?  
> to even: 3:15  
> to even: can we just  
> to even: make out  
> from even: please
> 
> also. i read "song of achilles" and i understand that it objectively an unexcellent & unsubtle book but i'm still emo about it. i think that is evident in this. 
> 
> constructive criticism is appreciated and comments mean the world! y'all's responses make all this writing worth it.


End file.
